


Team Fortress: Scramble

by Speg



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Multi, Murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 06:11:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17177393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speg/pseuds/Speg
Summary: The Mercenaries have been scattered to the winds after a mysterious figure assassinated their employer. We now join Scout as he and Soldier readjust to civilian life.Meanwhile, forces outside both of their eyes plot against them and the remaining Mercenary crew.





	1. "Spy counters Sniper!"

Spy slid to a halt, back slamming against a rugged brick wall, his heart pounding through his chest. Sweat soaked through his bright blue tailored suit and his mask was shred and torn to the point of being functionally worthless. Despite his general exhaustion he brought a steady pistol up to his side, held at the ready as footsteps echoed through the moonlit alley he hid adjacent to. Breathlessly he slammed his palm into his gun, shells tinkling to the ground and, reaching into his now empty pocket, counted out four bullets while loading them into his weapon. The footsteps grew louder, his pursuers pace galloping to a run. Spy took a deep breath and, calmly readying his pistol, stepped out in front of the mercenaries.

Three burly, masked men stumbled to a halt about fifteen meters from Spy, the largest and closest of the group began to yell, "There he is, get 'e-" before a bullet splattered his brains into the concrete below. Spy recoiled and dropped to the floor, his own gun still cold as the night while the other two mercenaries froze in mild shock from what had just happened. Another shot rang out through night and, a moment later, the man on the right was blasted off his feet, blood soaking his uniform as the hole through his heart grew only larger. By now, Spy had rolled into action. Clicking on his invisibility watch he dashed forwards, keeping close to the wall, and decloaked behind the final remaining man. The grunt gasped as Spy's cold knife was shoved against the front of his neck, the frenchman holding him strategically in front of himself, blocking any would be attacker.

"I do not know who you are" He yelled off into the night, the city street out of the alley silent in response, "But rest assured I am more than capable of killing these men and you myself. So if you do not wish to become the latest in my list of felonies tonight, I would recommend speaking u-" He would not finish that sentence as, in that moment, another bullet blasted through the head of the captured criminal, blood and organ tissue splattering into Spy's face and a distinct bullet caused pain spiked through his ruptured shoulder.

He cried out in pain, the dead body collapsing atop him as he himself crumpled to the ground. World fading, his consciousness was clearly leaving him faster than he could crawl off to a safe space. Eyesight failing, body limp, he could do little but fall to his back and control his breathing. The final image to grace his sight was that of a ragged, hatted man squatting over him, his voice grumbling as Spy's eyes rolled over, "Well I'll be damned, seems we've found another one doc."

 

When Spy first awoke he was, well, he wasn't sure exactly where he was. He was shirtless and seemed to be lying half covered in some kind of medical cot. Everything rumbled around him and, from the tight quarters, rectangular layout of the room and the two massive shut doors in front of him, he surmised himself to be in a vehicle of some kind. He groaned and, when he tried to prop himself up, a jolt of movement yanked his attention to his hand. Throwing the blankets from his body, he discovered his right arm firmly bound to the medical cot's frame, his wrist locked in handcuffs. "Ah awake zhen?" A familiar voice muttered behind him and, before he could flick his head around to see who had spoken, a needle was jabbed into his neck and sleep consumed him once again.

 

When next he awoke, consciousness came with excruciating, dull pain. He muscles ached, legs especially feeling as though they had suffered several cramps through his transit. His wounded shoulder was the worst, radiated pain through his whole upper body. He could see little, though from what scant light shone in through a covered window, he appeared to be in a type of prison cell. His arms hung limply above him, bound by metal cuffs and chains to the wall. His legs, however, suffered no such bindings. 

"Amateurs." He scoffed, kicking his shoe off. Deftly manipulating his feet, he managed to shove a thin, metal rod, barely the size of a finger and many times as thin, out from his sock. Now, clutching it between his two largest toes, Spy kicked back, sending it flying through the air. He watched with baited breath until, as he intended, it fell within inches of his face and he was able to bite it from the air. Now, clutching the lock-pick between his front teeth, he pulled himself up. Though his arms screamed in pain, he managed to keep himself upright and, swinging over to his right handcuff, stuffed his mouth against the bindings. "Now, the difficult part." He thought to himself. A bead of sweat dripped down his face, then another as he worked his mouth to its limit twisting and turning the lock-pick, his own body shaking with exhaustion as his still recovering muscles worked their hardest just to hold him up. Finally, just as it seemed his strength would fail, a 'click' rang out. Music to his ears. 

Collapsing back to the ground, he snatched the lock pick as it fell to the floor with his newly free arm and, in a multitude time less than it'd taken to break the right cuffs, he freed his left hand. Spy sighed and rubbed his sore wrists. Suddenly, a metal clang rang out somewhere in front of him and, in an effort to disguise his freedom, pushed his hands back into the cuffs, though now a simple pull could easily free them. As he slumped back down, arms still raised, the door to his prison cell swung open. 

In shone a blinding light outlining a figure identical to the one Spy had seen the night of his capture. "Well if it ain't mista-invisible." His gruff, kiwi accent jeered. Stepping forwards, the man took off his hat and, for the first time in months, Spy could see his face. 

"Sniper." Spy calmly replied, "Why is it not to my surprise to find such barbaric methods of prisoner interrogation employed by you."

Sniper chuckled, kneeling down to meet Spy face to face. "Aw don't act all smart, you know full well why you're here dontcha?" Sniper grinned, pulling out a jagged kukri knife from his belt. 

"I'm afraid I was not invited to that meeting, no. So why don't you fill me in." Spy stalled. 

"Ah come off it ya bastard. We all knew it was you who put that knife in the Director's back. Spy's ain't good for nothing 'cept backstabbing the very people they were hired to protect." Sniper grew agitated, voice growing to a roar as he pushed up close, "Sure flee the team while the rest of us put our necks on the line doing YOUR job!" At this point Sniper was mere inches from Spy's face, "I'd cut ya to pieces if I didn't think it'd get me fired. Cause, unlike you, some of us  _professionals_ actually have standards." He spat that last word into Spy's face. Spy stared back with an outwork look of calm, though loathing boiled thinly under the surface. It was a look sniper had seen many times but the most recent still remained etched in his memory, the night of the insurrection. 

"Sniper I assure you, regardless of whatever preposterous ideas Medic has been sowing into your thick skull, I can only hope you are not as English as you look and may yet have a shred of intellectualism left in you." Spy smirked, enjoying getting a rise out of the flushed Australian's face. 

"Why you little." Sniper's brow furrowed and, with a murderous look in his eyes, reared back to punch the supposedly incapacitated Spy. His fist flew where Spy's head should've been and, as Spy ducked under, hands unbound, a swift kick to the groin provided all the distraction he needed to throw Sniper off him. 

"What the... how the hell?!" Sniper gasped, stumbling to his feet. Spy stood in a readied stance across the room as Sniper fumbled with his knife. 

"I'll gut ya like the animal you are!" Sniper growled, leaping forward and slashing at Spy. He ducked out of the way, jabbing a fist into Sniper's exposed side, the Australian grunted with pain before angrily taking another stab at Spy. The two continued like this for a few actions more, Sniper slashing, Spy taking what few, glancing blows he could get, until Sniper threw down the Kukri in frustration, spat out a glob of bloodied spit and tackled Spy. He wasn't expecting such an avant garde move, the heavier, lanky Australian pinning him to the floor easily. Sniper held Spy's arms at bay, the two of their faces exchanging hot, panting breaths. Sniper tightened and twisted his grip on Spy's arms, almost taking sadistic pleasure in watching the Frenchman squirm with pain. However, unexpectedly, a smile broke through on Spy's tortured face. Sniper broke his concentration, muttering a confused, "The hell..." as Spy slowly rose his head up, meeting Sniper's eyes, and kissed him. 

Sniper broke off nearly as soon as it'd begun, leaping off him yelling, "The bloody hell was that?!" Spy chuckled, rising to his feet as well. 

"Well, Sniper." He smiled, grabbing the man's Kukri from the floor and, almost comically, effortlessly tossed Sniper aside. "As much as I have been waiting for the day when love would bloom on the battlefield I am afraid this is not the case." Sniper's body was growing rigid, eyes shooting darts into Spy's smug face as he stood above him. "Nerve agent, potentially lethal if you fight it." Sniper seethed with rage, though every joint in his body remained locked as Spy squeezed blood from his own clothing. "It should wear off in, oh, about a day or so, though I doubt your colleagues will leave you here for that long. So..." He bent down, placing another kiss on Sniper's cheek, Sniper's eyes quivering as the thought that this mercenary had so effortlessly incapacitated him drilled itself into his mind. "Until next time; dors bien mon petit amour". 


	2. A Broken Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mercenaries have been scattered to the winds after a mysterious figure assassinated their employer. We now join Scout as he and Soldier readjust to civilian life.  
> Meanwhile, forces outside both of their eyes plot against them and the remaining Mercenary crew.

"Whadya MEAN my card's been declined?!" Scout shouted. He and soldier stood outside a Gyro cart, the two mercenaries holding up a line of about a half a dozen grumbling New Yorkers.

"Sir. This is the fifth time you've come here this week and the fifth time we've told you." A purple-haired teenager slouched over the counter, fingers pressed against the bridge of her nose, "No business or nation on Earth accept Australium as currency. I dunno what kind of bank you're using but my manager told me I can't convert your hunk of rocks into USD."

Soldier suplexed an old man standing behind him and screamed, "Do you know who you're talking to?! I went through TWO world wars to get this fake money and you WILL accept it. If it were not for ME you would be speaking BRITISH right now because we would have LOST the war of 1812 and don't you FORGET IT." Soldier at this point had one hand planted on the stand counter and another pointed inside the stall.

"Soldier forget it, we'll just go pick up some food somewhere else." Scout mumbled, grabbing Soldier by the scruff of his neck all the while the helmeted man continuing to yell obscenities about the British, French, Germans, Russians and just about every group American presidents at one point had a reason to be opposed to.

"And a Merry Christmas to you too, sir." The employee responded, already dealing with the next person in line.

Scout let go of Soldier and, the two of them stepping over a crumpled old man, began walking down the bustling streets of New York.

"Man y'know can you just, like," Scout turned to face Soldier, walking backwards, "Not? Be an embarrassment for once? I can't take ya anywhere I swear! Y'know you're lucky I even let you bum at my place to begin with." Scout griped, punching him in the shoulder.

"Scout." Soldier stopped dead in his tracks, several people bumping into or altering their course around him.

"Wha what?" Scout groaned as Soldier yanked him back by the scruff of his neck. "Oh."

There, standing in broad daylight and surrounded by a group of armed policemen and a growing crowd, sat a dark man wrapped up with enough explosives to blow a hole straight through Staten Island. An eye-patch covered his eye and a mad grin seemed painted on his face.

"Stand down!" The police chief yelled, aiming a handgun, his arms resting on the hood of his vehicle. Demoman snorted, yelling out a slurred couple of words and simply raised his hand up. A few screams burst from the crowd as bystanders saw his hand held high, a primed grenade clutched within. He chuckled at the yells and brought a bottle of whiskey up to his lips, chugging it down before tossing it aside and reaching back into his bag.

"Aw crap, Soldier let's get ou- Soldier? Soldier?!" Scout had gone to grab a non-existent Soldier. He flicked his head around, though he heard the man before seeing him. Somehow Soldier had managed to push past the police and yelled out with a smile on his face,

"Oh hello Demoman! Where in the Sam-Hell did you get a grenade? Those bad boys have been outlawed for, what? 11 years now?" Soldiers grinning face and loud demeanor drew the attention of the nearest cops who growled at him, "Do you know this guy?"

"Why of course I do! That is none other than the bravest European you sons of bitches will ever see. He is my FRIEND and if you pigs had a shred of decency left in you, you'd be pointing MEDALS at him." Soldier confidently strolled over the police line and walked towards the half-asleep Demo.

"Travis, hey, buddy. Wake up. I think the X-files people wanna talk to you." Soldier knelt down and gently shook the grumbling Scot.

"Oh Soldier." Demoman slurred, tears brimming in his hungover eyes, "Doncha see? It's all over fer uus all." His hand trembled, fingers twitching as he toyed around with the grenade. "I'm oot of a job, me life's in shambles an ye don even return me calls anymure!" A burp followed his tearful outburst. Soldier remained stoic as he replied,

"Demoman let me tell you just one thing you beautiful bastard. I. do. not. own. a. telephone." He smiled and hugged the weeping man.

"Oh Soldier." Demoman hiccuped, wiping a tear from his eye. "Ye always know just what to s-"

A shot rang out and time seemed to slow to a crawl. The crowd fled in every possible direction, the police firing at once towards their target bomber and there Scout stood, frozen, as he watched the grenade fall.

 

Scout woke up in a world of aching pain. "Aw jeez." He groaned, head pounding as he slowly brought himself upright. His body was wrapped with bandages and a dull, throbbing pain pulsed through him as he sat in a hotel bed, the room seeming like an ordinary motel room. In the front of the room a TV silently played a French news channel. The exact story was lost on Scout's monolingual mind but footage of important looking politicians speaking ran behind the newscaster.

A female voice startled him, "Oh, hey you're awake." 

Flicking his head to where the voice had come from, his eyes fell on an incredibly sleep-deprived looking Ms.Pauling who sat a few feet from his bed. 

"O-oh! Ms.Pauling what're ya..." Scout suddenly blushed, "You weren't watchin me sleep, right? Cause aha if you're checkin out my bed which I totally, definitely paid for, well." He raised an eyebrow, patting the space beside him on the sheets. 

"Scout you..." Pauling looked as though she was going to slap him yet, after the moment of anger passed her expression, a smile shone through. "haven't changed in the slightest." 

 "Yeah I sure hope I haven't. Cause y'know you were so enamored with me last time an every... everything." Scout cleared his throat, glancing away briefly, "But uh anyway, what  _are_ you doing here anyway? Where's Soldier?"

"Well I..." Pauling looked down, avoiding Scout's gaze. "Scout I've been, well, let's just say 'busy' since you were um, fired." Scout, for the first time, noticed a pistol resting in Pauling's lap, a silencer affixed to its muzzle. 

"Ms.Pauling just tell me, where's Soldier? What... what happened? I don't remember anythin except there was a buncha cops a-and Soldier and me were getting Gyros." His voice cracked, mispronouncing Gyros. "Pauling is Soldier okay? P-pauling?" Scout grunted, pulling himself more upright. Ms.Pauling refused to look him in the eye, her gaze instead stuck down on her gun which she absentmindedly twitched her fingers around with. 

"Scout I... I can trust you, right?" Scout opened his mouth to respond though she continued before he had a chance, "Well, of course I can. You don't need to answer that, Jeremy." Scout sat there in silence, mouth agape before he finally whispered, 

"Ms.Pauling please, i-if... whatever you're goin through you can. I mean, I'm here to listen and... stuff."

Pauling sighed and set the gun aside. "Scout. I'm supposed to kill you." 

Silence consumed the room, Scout staring at her pained face with a look of both equal confusion and shock. 

"Ms.Pauling I-" He began, only to be cut off once again. 

"Scout that explosion, the one Demoman and Soldier died in-" Scout jolted as though to speak, but froze as she placed a firm hand on his thigh. "Scout just listen. When the Administrator died, all those weeks ago, well I always knew it was a possibility. But i just... I never thought I'd actually have to go through with her final instructions." She reached into her coat and pulled out a thin folder of papers. "The order was simple, wrap up all loose ends. And that includes you, unfortunately." 

Scout was growing more and more nervous now, eyes flitting from her face to the gun. Regardless, Pauling continued, "You know, better than any of the other mercenaries really, that when I do a job I follow through on that commitment. I've never taken a sick day, I've never left a witness with enough legs to walk away with and I have never, ever betrayed the Administrator but..." Pauling was on the verge of tears, "I can't do it. I can't bring myself to kill you. Sure it would be easy logistically! I could hire someone to... to I don't know, push you down a flight of stairs o-or poison your daily vending machine soda purchases but," Scout watched breathlessly as a single tear fell onto the cold muzzle of the pistol. 

"I can't kill someone I love." 


End file.
